The brilliant, light green of the May foliage was enhanced by the level rays of the setting sun, as the man turned his horse into Fifth Avenue and drew rein to a rapid walk. Many a one paused to look at him as he paced over the asphalt. He was looking up at the mansions of the Upper East Side. Soon he halted at the corner of a side street and gazed up at the first house, the end of which, with the conservatory, was on the Avenue, but the entrance on the side street. "That's the place," he spoke to himself,--"don't see a hitchin'-post handy, so I 'll just have to tie up to this electric light stand. Iron, by thunder!--Well, there ain't any risk so long as 't isn't lit, 'n' there ain't a tempest."
Leaving his horse firmly tied to the standard he stepped up on the low, broad stoop of "Number 4," and looked for the bell. Not finding any he knocked forcibly on the carved iron grill that protected the plate-glass doors.
The great doors flew open, and a face--"blacker 'n thunder"--as the man said to himself, scowled on the interloper.
"Wha' fo' yo' come hyar, yo'--" He got no further. A horny hand was extended, and a cheery voice, that broke into a laugh, spoke the assuaging words:
"Guess you 're Wilkins, ain't you? I 've heard Lady-bird tell 'bout you till I feel as if we 'd been pretty well acquainted goin' on nigh two year now."
By this time Wilkins' face was one broad beam. He slapped his free hand on his knee:
"Yo 's Mister Chi, for sho'--dere ain't no need yo' tellin'. Yo' jes' come straight in, Mister Chi; Marse John an' little Missy jes' gone fo' ah drive in de Park. Dey 'll be in any minute. Yo' room 's all ready, an' little Missy put de flow'rs in fresh dis yere mornin'--''Case,' she say, 'Wilkins, dere ain't no tellin' when Chi's comin'.'"
"Sho'," Chi interrupted him, brushing the back of his hand hastily across his eyes. "I can't come in now, Wilkins, coz I 've got to stay here 'n' watch my horse--I 'll sit here on the steps a spell 'n' cool off till Mr. Clyde gets home, 'n' he 'll help me see to puttin' up Fleet for the night. His legs are a little mite swollen near the hocks, 'n' I 'm goin' to rub him down myself."
"De coachman jes' tend to yo' hoss like 's ef 't wor yo'se'f, Mister Chi. I 'll jes' call up de stable bo', 'n' he 'll rub him down wif sp'r'ts, an' shine him up till he look jes' lake new mahog'ny. Jes' yo' come--dere dey come now!"
Chi was at the curbstone to welcome them.